Skippy had food and plenty of it during the next month. Big Joe saw to that though it kept him away from the barge many hours at night, hours when he lived in mortal fear that the boy would develop a “bad throat” and be seriously sick before he could get back.
Skippy’s “bad throat” had become a veritable bugaboo to Tully and though he had no definite idea of what it was, the fear of its recurrence stalked every hour that he spent away from the boy. And when he did return he would tiptoe into the silent shanty and up to the boy’s bunk, sighing with relief to find him sleeping quietly. Then, when he had made sure there was no sign of the pinched look and feverish cheek, he would climb into his own bunk with a light on his face that would have surprised his rough comrades.
Skippy saw this light on Tully’s face one early morning. He saw it from under half-opened lids and it made him glad until he noticed the quick look of concern that passed over the man’s tanned brow.
“What’s up, Big Joe?” he asked anxiously.
“So it’s awake ye be?” Big Joe returned nervously. “Well now I was just lookin’ and seem’ if ye was all right. Sure an’ the weather’s gittin’ cold and all and I got wonderin’ how the throat was. I bought a new stove what’ll give ye lots o’ heat—it’s comin’ in the mornin’.”
“Gee whiz!” Skippy said gratefully, then: “You sorta looked worried.”
Big Joe turned his back and started to undress.
“I’ve got to be tellin’ ye sometime, kid—I—listen....”
“You’ve heard about Pop, huh?” Skippy sat up.
“Yes—they....”
“They what?” said Skippy anxiously.
“They turned down the appeal. But don’t be takin’ on about it, Skippy. Sure an’ next year we’ll be diggin’ up new evidence. Now....”
“I ain’t gonna take on, Big Joe, honest I ain’t,” said Skippy bravely. “On accounta you I ain’t. You been so good—all the money you spent tryin’ to get Pop free. An’ now—well, maybe if I don’t hope about it sumpin’ll happen, sometime.”
“Sure now that’s bein’ a good kid, takin’ it so aisy like. We’ll be tryin’ agin like I said. Some time Marty Skinner’ll get over his crazy notion that iverybody in Brown’s Basin’s agin him and that Toby did the job. Sure he hates iverybody here so much I hear he’s got Buck Flint to agree to buy the whole inlet. And thin he’ll be drivin’ us squatters out, so he will.”
“But he can’t do that!” Skippy protested indignantly. “He can’t drive me outa theMinnie M. Baxter’cause it’s Pop’s home—gee, the only home we got. I gotta stay here till—well, when I leave it, I’ll know I ain’t got any hope that he’ll come back.”
“And don’t I be knowin’ how ye feel, kid? But if Skinner’s put it in Buck Flint’s head that the inlet’s a good buy and the deal goes through, he’ll be orderin’ us out and we’ll be likin’ it. Buck ain’t a bad egg, but Skinner’s runnin’ the works and what he says goes, so it does. Now if he tells us to beat it I’m wonderin’ who’ll be towin’ a barge out o’ this mud whin she’s settled. Why, it’d take a derrick, so it would, an’ even then it’d be a chance.”
Skippy was deeply affected by this news. He could not sleep because of it and long after Big Joe was snoring comfortably he rolled and tossed in his bunk. Then, after a time, he thought of what Tully had said about the barges being too deeply settled in the mud to get them out, and he was so curious about it that he got up to see for himself.
He bundled himself up and slipped out onto the deck in the cold, damp air of an early fall morning. It was not yet dawn but the deep black of night had gone and Brown’s Basin lay silent in a dark gray mist.
Skippy leaned far over aft where theMinnie M. Baxterwas settled deepest in the mud. Up forward, the slinking waters of the inlet gurgled plaintively against the keel at high tide. Big Joe was right, he decided with sinking heart; it would take a derrick and more to pull the barge out of her muddy berth.
As he started to step back he noticed a tarpaulin to his right which seemed to be covering some bulky objects. Something that Big Joe had brought aboard, he thought, and curiously he raised one end of it. One glimpse told him enough.
They were stolen ships’ supplies, things that his father had told him a river pirate could easily dispose of to some unscrupulous ship captain. Skippy knew instantly how they had come there and he turned on his heel and had started back for the shanty when a searchlight suddenly fell full upon him.
He crouched out of its glare and needed but to look hastily up the inlet to see that it was the police boat bearing down upon theMinnie M. Baxter.
Feverishly, Skippy set to work and pushed the stolen goods overboard piece by piece. Most of them floated but a moment, then sank out of sight, and the rest floated at a safe enough distance from the oncoming launch to escape the eyes of the police.
FEVERISHLY SKIPPY PUSHED THE STOLEN GOODS OVERBOARD.
FEVERISHLY SKIPPY PUSHED THE STOLEN GOODS OVERBOARD.
When the last piece had been disposed of he rushed to the shanty, awakened Big Joe and told him what he had done.
“’Tis a good boy ye be, Skippy,” he praised. “Sure th’ bulls give me a chase tonight so they did and I couldn’ unload the goods on me customer so I brought thim here till tomorrow night. Ye’re a broth of a lad to be droppin’ thim over, so ye be.”
“Sh!” said Skippy, frightened. “Ain’t that them boardin’ us now?” He got out of his clothes and back into his bunk.
They listened in silence while the soft tramp of feet came along the deck. Skippy had reason to remember another terrible occasion when the police boat had come to take his father. He had thought then that it was only for a day.
He had only Big Joe now, his only friend in a singularly callous world. Would the law take him too? He couldn’t bear it—he wouldn’t bear it! He would like and protect Big Joe even if he was a murderer, the police wouldn’t take the one thing he had left!
They knocked insistently and Big Joe padded to the door, barefooted and feigning complete surprise. He invited them in, hurried ponderously to the rickety table and lighted the lamp. Mugs growled ominously.
The officers told Tully that a certain warehouse had been broken into that night. The watchman who had surprised the intruder thought he had recognized Big Joe Tully.
“Tonight?” Skippy piped up from his bunk. “It ain’t so ’cause Big Joe’s been here takin’ care of me since noon. I got one of my bad throats again an’ he wouldn’t go out ’cause I was feelin’ so bad.”
Who of the river front police hadn’t heard of Skippy Dare’s bad throat? None that had patrolled the harbor during the past four months. Hadn’t it been because of his frail boy that Toby Dare had fought his prison sentence so hard? The papers had been full of it too.
“So the throat’s cutting up again, eh Skippy?” asked Inspector Jones. He was the same man who had taken Toby away from his son.
Skippy, always a bit wan looking when he lay in his bunk, looked more wan than ever then. His pallor was not simulated; it was terribly real, for he was not only frightened at the prospect of losing Big Joe; he was frightened because of the barefaced lie he had just told—the first in his life.
“I always gotta be careful of my throat, Mister,” he said to the officer when the worst of his emotion had passed. “’Specially when it gets cold. Sometimes I get fever right away an’ the doctor told Big Joe the last time that I gotta right away have attention.”
“Sure and the lad’s right,” Big Joe interposed with genuine feeling in his voice, “he’s got only me to be lookin’ after him now.”
“What you doing for a living, Big Joe?” asked the officer a little pointedly.
Big Joe stifled a yawn and sat down on a chair.
“Me?” he asked innocently. “Ye mean what’ll I do when the money I saved from me barge gives out, is it? With the way Flint blackballed me ’fore he died, I guess I’ll have to be workin’ out o’ the bay next summer, so I do.”
“Got enough for you and the kid till next summer?” the officer persisted.
“Sure and ’tis lucky I have, the way things be,” answered Big Joe.
The officer leveled his eyes at Tully.
“For the kid’s sake, watch your step, Big Joe,” he said with a warning note. “For the kid’s sake....”
Skippy couldn’t believe they had gone. It seemed too good to be true, and in order to reassure him, Big Joe put something around him and went out on deck to see that the launch had actually gone.
“Sure she’s aisy out to the river by this time,” he assured Skippy when he came back. He lighted a cigarette and sat down. “Now was that a close shave I’ll be askin’,” he exclaimed. “And I can be thankin’ ye for it, kid. I never expected thim to come stealin’ up on us here, no, I didn’t.”
“See it don’t pay, Big Joe!” Skippy said gently. He seemed spent with the great strain. “People know a big guy like you anywheres an’ besides like I say, it don’t pay anyhow. Gee, if you can’t get honest work ’cause Flint blackballed you then I gotta work myself. I can get a job as office boy in a warehouse. I bet I can!”
“Nix, kid, nix, ye ain’t well enough,” Big Joe protested hotly. “Besides I don’t niver take things from folks what are hard up, Skippy. I——”
“Lemme try it, Big Joe, huh? I’m better now’n I been in a long time, so lemme try it! I’m not kickin’ ’bout you. Gee, I can see how it is now. Even Pop once told me how hard it was for a blackballed man to get back along the river. You spent all your money on Pop an’ me an’ we hadda eat an’ live, so what was you gonna do! I shoulda known before that your money couldn’t last forever—gee! All you’ve done for me, Big Joe—lemme try!”
Tully was still protesting at daylight, but Skippy, having made up his mind, fell peacefully to sleep with the dog tucked snugly under his outstretched arm. Big Joe sat watching them until long after the sun came up.
“Sure and the kid lied for me,” he said as he climbed back into his bunk. “Sure and that nice kid lied for me—me!”
And as his large features settled in slumber, they looked strangely troubled.
Skippy left the barge noiselessly that morning and did not return until six o’clock in the evening. Consequently, Big Joe spent a troubled day, waiting and hoping and fearing. When he saw the boy crossing the plank from theDinky O. Cross, he hurried to the door.
“And where have ye been, Skippy?” he called anxiously. “Here and ye been havin’ me crazy wonderin’ if ye’d run away!”
Skippy laughed and greeted Mugs who seemed to be growing by the minute. Then he swung energetically into the shanty and sat down to a hot supper that Mrs. Duffy had faithfully sent over.
“Guess what, Big Joe?”
“Sure and ye’ll not be for quittin’ me ’cause o’ what happened last night?” Big Joe returned trying not to sound anxious.
“I should say not. Whad’ye think I am? I ain’t yeller, Big Joe. Besides I like you too much. What I wanta say is, I got a job.”
Tully frowned.
“It ain’t gonna be hard,” Skippy assured him. “I’m the new office boy at the Central Warehouse an’ I’ll get ten bucks a week. So now you needn’t be scareda cops.”
Tully smiled in spite of himself. “My now, ain’t that just fine. Ain’t that just fine, kid. But do ye be knowin’ who’s boss o’ the Central?”
“No. Who?”
“Marty Skinner, actin’ as Buck Flint’s agent, no less.”
“Well, he can see then that my Pop brought me up honest an’ hard workin’,” said Skippy after a moment’s surprise.
“Sure, to be sure and he can that, but shiverin’ swordfish, don’t ye be goin’ on expectin’ too much from him, kid. D’ye be thinkin’ he’s wise ye be on the payroll?”
“No.”
“Well, now, just ye be waitin’ till he is. Just ye be....”
Skippy did not have long to wait. He had completed his first week’s work in the Central Warehouse when one day he heard a hushed voice pass around the awesome news that “the boss” was coming.
Skinner recognized Skippy as soon as he stepped into the room. There were a few questions asked and Skippy trudged back to theMinnie M. Baxterthat night with a heavy heart.
Big Joe was all sympathy.
“And what was he sayin’ to ye, kid?”
“He wanted to know how I come to get a job there,” Skippy answered dolefully. “Wanted to know how I had nerve enough an’ said I was there as a spotter for my father’s gang probably. An’ before he finished he said it was lucky there hadn’t been a robbery there or he’d handed me right over to the police then an’ there.Me—me that ain’t done him a bitta harm an’ that wouldn’t! Gee, Big Joe, ain’t it enough that he helped put Pop where he is? Can’t he see howIam?”
“None o’ ’em can see anythin’, kid,” Big Joe answered, bitterly. “That’s the trouble with me and Toby and every man in this Basin. Sure ’tis ’cause the likes o’ Skinner can’t see. They don’t even give us a chance, they don’t ’cause we’re river folks. They tell us so much that we’re crooked that we wind up that way whither we want to or not, so we do. They make us be crooked. And now they be startin’ in on you, kid. ’Tis a dirty shame, so ’tis.”
“I’ll get some other place,” Skippy was defiant. “They’re not gonna make me crooked when I don’t wanna be.”
“Skippy, kid,” thought Tully from the depths of his river front wisdom, “I ain’t so sure, I ain’t so sure.” But what he said was: “Sure and that they’ll not, Skippy me boy, that they’ll not.”
Weary week after weary week passed for Skippy until the winter months had come and gone. March arrived, cold, blustery and disappointing, for he hadn’t yet been able to hold a job longer than it took his employers to find out just who their office boy was. And as gossip spreads quickly along the river front, the discouraged boy seldom drew more than a few days’ pay at a time.
He had learned upon being dismissed from his last job the reason why employers had no use for his services. He demanded to know.
“Is it ’cause my father’s in prison?” he asked wistfully. “’Cause if it is nobody is fair in the world. You’ve heard, I bet, that lots of innocent people are in jail so can’t you believe maybe my father could be one of them? And anyway, does that prove that I’m....”
The employer, thus confronted, protested.
“No,” he said in that self-righteous tone that was beginning to wear on Skippy’s nerves, “we think that you, yourself, mean to be honest but we know that you can’t hold out long against such home conditions as the Basin offers. A wage such as a boy like you with your limited education can earn isn’t enough to provide you with all you want. And sooner or later, your association with a person like Big Joe Tully will have its effect on you.”
“My Pop was gonna send me to school so’s I could get educated,” Skippy protested, “but anyway I’m honest an’ I’m gonna stay honest, no matter what you think. Besides, Big Joe’s tried to live straight all this winter for my sake, but are you an’ everybody else I’ve tried to work for tryin’ to help him? No, nobody won’t even give him a job so he can stay straight. An’ now you won’t let me stay ’cause I live with him, because you’re afraid....”
“My dear boy,” the employer interposed patronizingly, “can you blame us? Tully has served a jail sentence for robbing our warehouses. How can we be certain that he won’t do it again? Or that he won’t use your position of trust in our offices to learn more easily what goods we have in our warehouses that he can steal? What assurance can you give us that he don’t do that when he gets tired treading the straight and narrow path? None. Absolutely none! No, we warehouse owners have been too long aware that it is you thieving river people who are responsible for our tremendous losses every year. And so we maintain that, once a thief, always a thief!”
Skippy was wounded and bitter. His full, generous lips curled sardonically.
“Then it ain’t any use to try to make you understand,” he said bravely. “You warehouse people complain that we’re thieves an’ you make us thieves just like you’re tryin’ to make me one by keepin’ me outa jobs so’s I can’t make an honest livin’. An’ anyway, if the only way I could hold a job is to quit Big Joe then I won’t do it! I’d ratherbea thief, yes I would! He saved my life and he’s helped my Pop ... oh, what’s the use!”
He slammed the door behind him and rushed home to find Big Joe with his faithful, smiling face. Plank after plank he hurried over, connecting the barges, and at last he crossed the deck of theDinky O. Cross, waved a greeting to the smiling Mrs. Duffy and whistled for Mugs when he reached the plank of theMinnie M. Baxter.
“And have ye lost the job, kid?” Big Joe asked when he entered the shanty.
“My last job, Big Joe,” the boy answered smiling ruefully. “You were right about ’em—there ain’t one that’ll gimme a chance. Even you who ain’t always been honest yourself did more than that! You let me try at least. They know more about you than I did—they know you served time.”
“Sure and that’s why they’re blackballin’ ye, is it? ’Cause ye’re stickin’ with me?” His bland face looked dark and ominous. Then as he glanced at the boy’s wistful countenance, his expression softened: “I’m tellin’ ye the truth, kid, whin I say that they railroaded me, so they did—I was startin’ in honest like you. Office boy. Thin one night the warehouse was robbed and next mornin’ they accused me o’ workin’ with the gang—tippin’ ’em off. ’Cause I’d been seen ’round with one o’ the guys what was caught. I got a year, I did, and didn’t have a chance. When I come out I was blackballed and Ol’ Flint took me under. Sufferin’ swordfish, sure and I’ve tried twice now to travel on the up and up. When I first got my barge and now. And ’tis no use, ’tis no use.”
“Seems that way,” Skippy murmured, disconsolate. “Now I ain’t gonna try. I’m gonna live an’ eat like other fellers my age. I wanta go to the movies an’ take things up to Pop when I go to see him. Gee, already he’s startin’ to write to me that the food’s bad up at the big house. So I gotta help him have a little sumpin’ to smile at if he’s gonna be there the rest of his life! An’ I gotta have money to go to see him—I gotta see him! If they won’t lemme earn it honest—what else? Like the man said, I don’t know enough to work anywheres else.”
“And ye’ll be wantin’ to quit me, kid? Ye’ll be wantin’ to go away and start over where they don’t know ’bout river people and all?” Big Joe’s anxiety was pathetic.
“I’m afraid of places too far away from the river,” Skippy admitted. “I guess I got the river in me like Pop, huh? I ain’t got nerve enough to break away. Besides I sorta promised Pop I’d stay by theMinnie M. Baxter. S’pose just by a lucky break the governor pardons Pop some day, huh? He’s paid good money for this barge an’ it’s the only home he’s got. Besides, I don’t wanta quit you, Big Joe—I couldn’t!”
And Skippy’s decision stood until Brown’s Basin was no more....
In May, Big Joe conceived a brilliant idea for making a living. He came into the shanty of the barge with it one balmy noon, for it was embodied in a large canvas bag which he carried in his big outstretched hand.
“Sure and now we be goin’ to eat, kid, and we be goin’ to live high, and ye be goin’ to do all the things ye’ want for Toby,” he said chuckling.
“Stealin’?” Skippy asked, looking worried and wan. “As hard up as we been, Big Joe, I can’t stand for sneakin’ down the river at night an’ climbin’ into warehouse windows. Gee, Pop’d feel fierce if we was caught an’ I was put in reform school or sumpin’ like that!”
“And d’ye be thinkin’ I ain’t carin’ no more for ye than seein’ ye grabbed for somethin’ like that, me boy? Kid, I been thinkin’ and thinkin’ o’ some way for us to be gettin’ by—some way that no copper could catch us up on. And if they iver should ’twon’t be you what’d be holdin’ the bag—’twill be me, ’cause I’m the one what’ll do the trick. Do you catch on?”
“What trick, Big Joe?”
“’Tis the stuff I got in this bag, kid,” answered Tully softly. “’Tis ground carbon and whin it’s poured in with oil it raises the divil with thim nice engines in rich guys’ boats up at the Riverview Yacht Club. From now on till the end o’ summer they’re takin’ trips—see? Well, sure and Big Joe’s got a good pal what looks out for the boats up there ... he’s told beforehand what rich guy’s goin’ out in his boat, he is ... my pal tells me and I go up there—see? Him and me edge aisy like towards the boat and whilst he’s lookin’ out the corners o’ his eye that no one’s comin’, Big Joe uncovers the crank case and ’fore ye could sayscat, I’m pourin’ me little powder in the breather pipe and sure she’s mixin’ with the oil.”
“An’ what then?” Skippy asked, nervous, yet admiring Big Joe’s ingenious idea.
Big Joe winked, then laughed.
“Sure, I pour the right amount o’ this powder, kid,” he said, “thin I beats it off quick and watch the rich guy start, so I do. If ’tis possible, me pal finds out where the guy’s goin’ so’s I can beat it on ahead and circle his course so I come up on him by the time his ingine’s dead—see?”
“The powder mixes through the oil an’ up through the engine, huh?” Skippy asked fearfully. “Makes the engine go dead, huh?”
“Sure ’tis ground up like nobody’s business, kid,” Big Joe laughed. “An’ I make sure o’ puttin’ in enough so’s I’ll be knowin’ about where the ingine goes dead on thim. And thin I chug up to thim all innocent like and asks do they want help.Dothey? Sure they must be towed back so I says I don’t think I’m their man ’cause I’ll be losin’ business somewheres or other—see? And they’re so anxious they’ll be willin’ to pay me price, so they will. And I gotta be paid for the loss o’ me time!” He laughed heartily.
“I—I—gee, in a way that’s worse than pulling a warehouse, Big Joe? It ain’t so dangerous, but....”
“Kid, sure I thought ye’d be takin’ on, but I can tell ye it ain’t so bad at all, at all. I’ll be pickin’ out only thim what’s payin’ tin and twinty grand for their kickers! What’s the cost to thim what throws away hundreds o’ bucks at a time? And what’s fifty or seventy-five bucks for to be payin’ me for towin’ thim back? Sure ’tis a drop in the bucket, says I. They’ll niver be missin’ it, kid. And we gotta live, you and me, and Toby’s case’s gotta go before the governor some day and that takes money too.”
Skippy nodded and Big Joe noticed that the old pinched look had come back to his thin cheeks.
“Kid, ye can’t be goin’ on like this, you and me!” he pleaded. “Like I said ’tis only the big guys—guys what have the heavy sugar. We’ll be layin’ off the others and we’ll be workin’ the different clubs so nobody gets wise. Thim boat tenders’ll go along for a little o’ the split. So ye needn’t be worryin’ that we’re takin’ thim what can’t afford it! Besides they’re mostly rich warehouse guys that won’t give you and me the chance for honest work. Sure and now ye won’t be feelin’ so bad about takin’ it, will ye?”
That decided Skippy. Hunger and privation had dulled his conscience, embittered him against the warehouse owners and he was at last ready to strike back at his oppressors.
And strange to say, in contemplating the results of this stealthy enterprise, Skippy did not think of the food, nor the movies to which he could go. He was thinking instead that he would at last have the money to pay for his journey up to see his father. For a few golden moments the walls of the prison would fade away and Toby would imagine himself a free man. And all because of a breath of river air that his son would bring him in his smile.
And for that, Skippy was willing to forget that he hated dishonesty in any form.
It was early morning a few days later when Skippy and Tully set out on the first stage of their enterprise. The inlet was dark and shadowy, and the sweet soft breath of spring floated about their heads. In its wake, however, came the smell of mud and fish at low tide and the boy was glad to get out into the fresh salt air of the river.
“It’s the only thing that makes me hate the inlet,” he said to Big Joe as they turned up toward the yacht club. “I get feelin’ choked, sorta—you know, sumpin’ like I imagine people feel when they go to jail.”
“Now don’t ye be feelin’ spooky,” Tully admonished. “’Tain’t the spirit for a job like this. Sure, there’s somethin’ ’bout mentionin’ jail what gives me the creeps. So don’t be thinkin’ we’ll be gettin’ in any jams—’tis hard luck, so ’tis.”
“I’m sorry, Big Joe,” said Skippy contritely. “I—I didn’t say it for that, honest, because even Pop can tell you how the inlet always made me feel like that. I’m all right when I’m up on the barge; it’s only the inlet makes me feel that way. Just as soon as we strike the river I feel better.”
“That’s the talk, me boy. And I’m sorry for jumpin’ on ye so quick. I thought ye was nervous ’bout this job, so I did.”
“Aw, no,” Skippy protested, but his quivering lip belied his words.
Tully did not see it, however, for he was intent on approaching the yacht club unobtrusively.
“Now if this ain’t a good break,” he said enthusiastically. “There’s a party o’ three goin’ out on a two days’ fishing trip at Snug Island. She’s called theMinnehaha, me pal tells me, and she’s a baby. Twenty-six footer! Guy that owns her is Crosley.”
“Crosley Warehouse where I worked last?” Skippy asked anxiously.
“Sure, and now don’t that beat all! Little Old Lady Luck’s playin’ with us, kid! Sure ’tis a break to make him hand over his bucks or sink in Watson’s Channel!”
“You wouldn’t let ’em do that, Big Joe?” Skippy asked fearfully. “You wouldn’t!”
“Nah, Big Joe ain’t that hard hearted, much as I got it in for thim rich bugs. I’ll just be lettin’ thim think I’m doin’ thim a favor not lettin’ Watson’s Channel close ’em in, so I will.”
“Do you s’pose Mr. Crosley’ll get wise we’re doin’ it a-purpose?” Skippy was beginning to weaken already.
“And how’ll he be doin’ that, I’m askin’ ye? Me pal tipped me off they be due at dawn. We’ll be there and gone a half hour afore they show up. So don’t be startin’ worryin’, kid. Leave everythin’ to Big Joe, as if ye didn’t know nothin’ ’bout the business at all, at all. You don’t say nothin’. Be lookin’ dumb if anybody talks to ye.”
“I will,” said Skippy, half-whimsically, and half-frightened. “I’ll bescareddumb so you needn’t worry that I’ll get nervous an’ give anythin’ away—gee whiz!”
Big Joe laughed, then he said, “Awright, kid, D’ye be knowin’ Skinner and Crosley be pals?”
“Gee!” said Skippy. “Now I know why I couldn’t get a job. Skinner put ’em all wise, huh? Gee!”
They were silent after that and chugged steadily toward the yacht club. A ferry-boat was crossing far up the river and her lights blinked out over the dark water like a hundred evil eyes. Hundreds of boats anchored near shore bobbed up and down on the tide like a ghostly river army, and from the shore more lights winked down on them knowingly as if they knew their secret.
They crept into the slip alongside the yacht club; Big Joe had shut off the motor. At a sign from him, Skippy dropped the anchor and without a word, he got out and crept across the float and onto the club grounds.
After the darkness hid him from view Skippy looked about, nervously. There was a little light gleaming from under the vast clubhouse porch and suddenly he saw Big Joe’s ponderous figure pass under it. Presently, he halted and held out his hand to a man approaching him from the other direction.
Skippy sighed with relief and relaxed. At least Big Joe had met his comrade without accident. Besides, no one seemed to be about. He heard not a sound except the river lapping restlessly around the piling under the slip and the swish of anchored craft as they swayed on the tide.
It seemed to him that Big Joe was staying an interminable time, but as an actual fact, it was just seven minutes before he saw the man’s bulky figure coming stealthily toward him.
Skippy weighed anchor without a sound and they pushed the kicker out of the slip with oars. A little distance below the club, Big Joe turned over his motor.
“Shiverin’ swordfish, kid,” he murmured with a chuckle, “all we do now is wait—wait so’s Crosley can get ’bout as far as Watson’s Channel. He’ll be gettin’ no further’n that—so he won’t.”
Skippy shivered a little and leaned over the coaming to watch for logs.
As the moments wore on, Skippy felt meaner than ever. He tried to force himself to accept Big Joe’s point of view, but it was difficult and more than once he wished he had not encouraged his good friend in this dubious enterprise.
They chugged into the bay and out of the awakening river traffic. Dawn had broken through and glimmerings of dancing light peeped over the horizon. An hour more and they would be in sight of Watson’s Channel.
“We’ll not be goin’ straight for the Channel, we’ll not,” called Big Joe as if anticipating Skippy’s fears. “We’ll be layin’ quite like below here a ways ’till theMinnehahagets in the Channel. ’Tis a funny name, hey kid?”
“Mm,” Skippy answered. “It’s a Indian name, Big Joe—I think it means sumpin’ like Laughing—Laughing sumpin’.”
Big Joe’s mirth knew no bounds.
“Sure and just about nowMinnieain’t laughin’, she ain’t,” he said. “’Tis us.”
“Not me,” Skippy said gloomily. “I won’t laugh ... not till after.”
An hour later they were chugging noisily toward Watson’s Channel. The sun was glorious and the water glistened under its warm spring rays. Gulls frolicked about in the foaming spray and Skippy tried hard to believe there was nothing but peace in his busy mind.
After a time they heard a distant sound, faint at first but growing louder within a few minutes. Tully grinned at Skippy’s questioning face and nodded as the piercing note of a siren cut the silent sunlit air.
“Sure, and I wonder what that might be?” he said with mock-seriousness. “Sounds like distress I’d be sayin’, I would.”
“Stop kiddin’, Big Joe,” Skippy pleaded. “You mean you think it’sthem?”
“Well now I wouldn’ be s’prised,” the big fellow answered. Then seriously, he said: “We’ll be gettin’ there, kid! Don’t be lookin’ as if they was drownin’ or somethin’. Sure they could keep afloat for hours so they could, and look at the tide besides.”
Skippy glanced at the quietly rolling swell and felt somewhat reassured. But the voice of the siren jarred him and he was glad to see that Big Joe looked serious and determined. He hadn’t liked that note of raillery in his friend’s voice.
But despite Skippy’s fears Tully answered the siren call with all the haste of a good Samaritan. One might have supposed that he gloried in the duties of heroic service. And when he reached the Channel and they sighted the distressed launch, he opened wide his throttle until the old hull shook to the vibrations of the engine.
Skippy clenched his slim, brown fingers and sat tense in his seat while a spray rained into the boat. Big Joe coughed significantly and drove his ramshackle craft straight for the disabled cruiser.
“Now ain’t she the sweet lookin’ baby,” he observed as if he had never seen the launch before.
Skippy said nothing but grimly watched the three men who awaited their coming. Crosley he recognized at once, but the man standing alongside of him was a stranger. The third occupant of theMinnehahawas Marty Skinner. Skippy remembered him from his father’s trial and from the night Skinner had ordered him off theApollyonwithout a hearing.
“You see him?” he asked Big Joe between clenched teeth.
“’Tis all the better,” Big Joe seemed to say in his bland smile.
He brought the kicker up alongside theMinnehahaand laid a life preserver over the coaming of his boat to prevent its scratching the gleaming hull of the launch. Skippy scrambled to the rescue and held the kicker as the ill-assorted pair rocked and rubbed in the heavy swell.
“Sure I don’t want to be scratchin’ her,” said Tully with a fine assumption of humble respect for the launch. “I was tellin’ the kid here, she’s some baby, hey? What’s bein’ the matter; power give out did she? ’Tis too bad, so ’tis.”
Skippy kept his eyes on space, but he had the feeling that Big Joe and he were being scrutinized with unfriendly stares.
Crosley sniffed the air contemptuously before he spoke.
“She’s pumping oil to beat the band,” he said. “We don’t seem to be getting any compression either. We can’t get a kick out of her. Been flopping around for an hour.”
“Sure maybe ye be needin’ new rings,” said Tully. “Guess ye been pushin’ her too hard, hey?”
He glanced into the cockpit and with a fine show of rueful astonishment, beheld the disastrous results of his own handiwork. She was indeed pumping oil. The engine head was covered with it, and it was streaming down the side over the carburetor. Three or four spark plugs had been taken out and lay on a locker in little puddles of oozy muck.
“If ’t was only one cylinder now, I’d be sayin’ ye had a busted ring, or even a cracked piston,” Tully said blandly. “But shiverin’ swordfish if it don’t look like the whole six o’ thim, don’t it? Ye can’t do nothin’ here. Looks like ye was racin’ her a lot.” His detestable device had worked so well that he seemed moved to offer gratuitous suggestions. “I knowed a guy was stuck on the bar over by Inland Beach and he kept racin’ his motor, and somehow—I dunno just how—she sucked in a lot o’ beach sand and it sanded down his cylinder wall good an’ plenty, so it did.”
Skinner’s lips were drawn in a thin line above his pointed chin.
“Does that mean we’ll have to be towed back, Crosley?” he asked his host petulantly.
“Afraid so, Marty,” answered Crosley. “I can’t imagine how a fine engine like mine could break down so soon.”
“Sure and if that ain’t just like some guys,” said Tully glibly. “They’re fine’s a fiddle one day and the next—they’re done for, ain’t it so?”
Crosley nodded indifferently.
“Could you tow us in?” he asked as if the question were distasteful. His aversion to the uncouth, but amiable river man was too obvious to escape Skippy’s sensitive eyes.
If Tully was aware of it too, he did not betray it. His face looked grave and thoughtful.
“Trouble is I’m due at the Hook,” he said hesitantly. “Have an all day’s job towin’ a barge. I’m late as ’tis. And if I ain’t there in twinty minutes I lose the job, so I do. ’Tis the first good payin’ job I’ve had in a long....”
Crosley waved his hand in entreaty.
“We’ll see that you’re paid for the loss of your day’s job, man. How much would you get for it, eh?”
Tully moved his large head and shrugged his powerful shoulders. “Seventy-five bucks is what they’re goin’ to pay me,” he said modestly.
Crosley gasped audibly.
“That’s a lot of money, but....”
“It’s a hold up!” snapped Skinner between his tightly drawn lips.
“Sure and it’s what they’re payin’ me, boss,” said Big Joe with a look of hurt pride. “I ain’t askin’ ye’ for a cent, I’m not considerin’ I may lose my customer for future jobs. ’Tis not only I’m losin’ that seventy-five bucks, ’tis....”
“All right,” Crosley sniffed angrily. “You’re taking advantage of us. I don’t believe you can earn seventy-five dollars for a day’s work. But you have us at a disadvantage—the Lord knows who else we could get to our rescue in this unfrequented channel.”
“So and that’s all the thanks I get,” said Tully. “Comin’ way out o’ me way....”
“All right,” Skinner interposed. “Give it to him, Crosley. I know who this fellow is. We’re at his mercy. But I’ll remember this, Tully—you’re occupying the mud banks at Brown’s Basin. You and this boy, Dare, may want some consideration when you people have to get out of the Basin. And I’ll remember who’s living on theMinnie M. Baxter!”
“You oughta!” Skippy shouted angrily, rising to his feet. “Your cheatin’ boss what’s dead put it there, that’s what, an’ my father’ll never see the sun on the river again on account of it too! So try an’ take it away.”
Skinner’s cold dignity seemed unruffled. He averted his gaze while Crosley counted out seventy-five dollars to Big Joe Tully. Skippy stood by, his heart full of hate, and at that moment he thought that he could cheerfully see theMinnehahasink to the bottom of the Channel while Skinner begged to be saved.
While leisurely chugging back toward the Basin that afternoon he and Tully talked it over seriously.
“Well, and we got seventy-five bucks aisy money out o’ the tightwads,” Tully chuckled in conclusion.
“Seventy-five bucks an’ the promise of trouble from Skinner, Big Joe,” Skippy reminded him with a note of apprehension in his voice.
Tully’s face darkened.
“I hate Skinner for sayin’ what he did, so I do,” he said ominously. “Sufferin’ swordfish if he do be makin’ ye scared and drivin’ ye outa the only home ye got—well, he better be lettin’ ye ’lone.Me, I don’t care much where I live, butyou... I’ll be fixin’ him if he....”
“Don’t say it, Big Joe!” Skippy pleaded earnestly. “It scares me, ’cause that’s just what Pop said the night he went to see old Mr. Flint on theApollyon! It’s sorta——”